I owe you so much
by MidnightWillows
Summary: John finally admits everything he feels about Sherlock, even though it's too late. Or is it? One-Shot. Post-Reichenbach. (I suck at summaries, but please give it a try)


**Disclaimer: Sadly I do not own these characters, they pretty much own me. **

**A/N: My first attempt at a fanfic, not Beta read (sorry). And since English is not my native language I apologize in advance for any spelling or grammatical errors. Feel free to comment if there should be any. **

**Please R&R so I know whether I should keep writing or just hide under a blanket! Love xx**

"I don't know where to begin, there is just too much, way too much. I want to tell you everything but I don't know how. I've spent so much time of my life being miserable. I waited for so long, without really knowing what I was waiting for. I don't even think I would've minded that much if I just died there in Afghanistan. To be completely honest I think a part of me actually wanted to.

That is why it was so terrible for me, that I survived that bullet and had to go home. Because it was never home for me, it was just the country I came from and nothing more. I had to leave the thrilling feeling the battle gave me, and the feeling that I actually accomplished something. I was made for the war, born to do it. And then that _freaking bullet_ hit me and I had to leave the one thing I actually loved.

For months I just limped around thoughtlessly, secretly hoping I would be hit by a truck or something. Going to a worthless therapy, which was just wasting of time I didn't need anyway. Trying to write a stupid blog about things I never did. I had absolutely no meaning with my life. And then I met You.

You, who believed in me when no one else did. Who refused to believe that I needed that stupid walking-stick and proving your point by making me realize it for myself. You required my help, you wanted my opinions, and you didn't find it annoying when I couldn't quite follow your thoughts which, I admit, were a lot of times. You made me question myself and you gave me the confidence to doubt, and to believe in the improbable. You made me believe in the _science of deduction, _and even though most of it seemed mad, it was brilliant. YOU were brilliant.

But above all of it, you gave my life a meaning. I didn't know I could find that thrilling feeling again somewhere off the battle field, but as it turned out, chasing bad guys around the streets of London worked out pretty well too.

I guess this is a thank you. Sort of. For being there when I needed you. For picking me up from my darkest place and into the light. For being my friend.

But I miss you. _I miss you_. I miss your maniac rambling of thoughts when you are in a middle of a deduction. I miss the way your whole face lights up when you figured out a clue. I miss the way it was so natural for you to be with me. I miss your hair and your eyes. I miss the way you smell and the way you pull up your collar on your coat.

And I hate the fact that I never told you any of this. That I didn't get the chance to say how much you mean to me. That I never got the chance to kiss you and hold you in my arms. And I am so sorry that it's too late now, that I didn't got the chance to say that I love you. Because I do Sherlock, I love you.

You told me once that you weren't a hero. There were times I didn't even think you were human, but, let me tell you this: you were the best man and human… human being I've ever known, and no-one will ever convince me that you told me a lie.

I was so alone, and I owe you so much.

But there's just one more thing, one more thing, one more miracle, Sherlock, for me. Don't. Be. Dead. Would you do that, just for me, just… stop it. Stop this!

_Please!_"

A wind is rustling the leaves when a man turns from the grave of his best friend preparing to walk back into life. Rain is falling silently and mixes with the man's tears. The earth keeps revolving around the sun, like it always has and always will. But for this man, time has stopped. Life itself has stopped existing. He is alive but he doesn't live anymore. He stopped living the moment he saw _him _fall into nothingness. He is not alone, but he is lonelier than ever before. There is a hole inside this man that can only be filled with the presence of another. But he will keep on living, keep on fighting the worst battle of his life. For _him. _

The sun has set and the trees cast shadows that sweep between the headstones. But there is another shadow. The shadow of a man who is watching his best friend leave the grave with his own name carved into it. It's hard to see in the darkness, but those stormy eyes hold sadness beyond words. Rain or tears wets his cheeks, but it doesn't matter, nothing matters anymore. The man reaches out a hand, as if to grip something that isn't there. The silence is deafening and if you listen closely, you can almost hear his heart break as he watches the other man walk out of his life. Then there is nothing more.

Just a whisper, barely audible and not meant for anyone else than the man who holds his heart.

"I love you too, John."


End file.
